Flyboys
by Cassiopeia Mercutio
Summary: Military!AU Corporal Dean Winchester just transferred over to the USS Colt to keep a close eye on his newly enlisted brother, Sam. It's bad enough that Sam joined the Navy instead of the Marines like Dean and their father, but now these arrogant flyboys are getting under Dean's skin. Especially Airman Castiel Novak, the handsome pilot that can't seem to stay away from him. Destiel!
1. Welcome Aboard the USS Colt

**A/N: I tried to do some research, but I'm going to be taking _a lot_ of liberties in this fic. **

* * *

"So I'm stuck with another Winchester on my ship, is that right?"

"Yes, sir!"

"You're a Corporal, I see. And tell me boy, why'd you decide to be jarhead?"

"My father was a jarhead, sir! It's the family business!"

"But your brother is a squid."

". . . Sammy is. . . different. But it could have been a lot worse, sir!"

"How?"

"He could have been a flyboy, sir!" The Admiral laughed. He had a slightly wheezing laugh that started from deep inside his gut. Dean let out a small breath, but kept his face and posture statue like.

"Dismissed, Corporal." Dean saluted and walked out of Admiral Rufus Turner's office. A tall man with shaggy hair wearing dark sweats and a grey Navy tee shirt waited for him in the tight space. He was hunching over and Dean imagined that's why Sam was constantly volunteering for work outside on the flight deck or anywhere he could stand up straight.

"Dean! How'd it go?"

"Petty Officer Winchester, you'd do well to salute a higher ranking officer like myself."

"Oh, come off it, Dean. No one's around." Dean rolled his eyes.

"Sammy, this is the military. You need to learn your place." It was Sam's turn to roll his eyes. Dean sighed. He knew he'd never win this fight with Sammy. "Thanks for taking the day off to show me around."

"Dean, you're my brother. I just can't believe our luck! I'm really happy you got reassigned to the U.S.S. Colt."

"Me, too. Seriouslythough, your hair is getting kind of long. Hasn't anyone said anything?"

"Not really. Someone tried to say something once, but I told them I'd sue the Navy."

"What?" Sam shrugged.

"Just trying to get the most out of that Stanford Pre-Law education." He smiled at Dean, and Dean gave him one in return as he followed his brother through a tour of his new home. A small part of him twisted with guilt as his brother enthusiastically explained the parts of the ship, which of course Dean was already familiar with. After all, you've seen one aircraft carrier, you've seen them all. But he enjoyed it when his brother's eyes lit up as he explained something he found interesting. It was pretty rare these days that something interesting to Sammy would be something Dean could actually follow. It had been years since Sam and Dean had really been close, probably since the time Dean had enlisted with the Marines. Sam had gone off to college at Stanford, and things were going well for both brothers separately. Then that accident two years ago and everything seemed to just spiral out of control for Sam. Dean shook his head. He didn't need to be thinking about all of that.

"Why don't you show me the mess hall, Sammy? I'm starving." Dean flashed his brother a smile and Sam laughed.

"You're still the same, Dean. Always thinking with your stomach."

"Well, I get into trouble when I think with something else, so . . ."

"That's gross, Dean."

Sam took Dean to mess hall C and took seats with his Navy friends. Dean didn't mind at all, he really wanted to see the kind of people Sam was hanging around with.

"The jarheads normally eat on that side of the mess hall," said the fair skinned girl with brown hair. She seemed like a nice enough girl; a little nerdy and neurotic, but Dean found that to be a good sign.

"Trying to get rid of me?" Dean asked with a wink.

"We're still dealing with the last Winchester we found," said the Petty Officer with a serious face and dark eyes. He cracked a small smile and Dean took a bite of the burger before him. "I'm Jake. This is Ava."

"I'm Andy," added the skinny sailor next to Ava. He looked a little like he was stoned. They fell into easy conversation and Dean was so far pretty satisfied with Sam's friends. At first he felt worried about Andy, but realized the kid was harmless and actually kind of awesome. They had the same taste in music, movies, and cars.

"Oh, God, look whose here," said Ava. Dean turned and saw them. They were flyboys, Dean could tell from their identical grey jumpsuits, and their smug faces. Flyboys were always the same everywhere. Just because they flew planes they thought that meant they were above everyone else. Sure, maybe literally, but come on! Dean was about to write them off and go back to his pie, but something about them did catch his eye.

Flyboys were usually just that: _boys_.

But this bunch had not just one, but two very attractive women. One was blonde with a steely expression on her face making her look like the proverbial cheerleader captain and the rest of the world the geeky sophomore vice president of the A/V club. The second was a read head with a face that let no emotion in or out. She looked a little bit like those porcelain dolls Dean's grandmother used to collect. They both looked like total ice queens and combined with the fact that they were flyboys made Dean smirk a little.

"Flyboys," said Jake. He followed Dean's gaze and added, "Don't let the looks fool you. The long hair, the soft looking skin, the plump lips. Unh uh, brother. They may look like women, but truth is they're all the same. I'm not even sure if they're human. They're junkless, really."

"Sounds like you tried to make a run at it, and crashed and burned," replied Dean. Jake shrugged,a little flushed in the face and Dean noted the way Ava smiled into her hand and looked away.

"Dean, don't," said Sam. "Those guys are jerks."

"What? I'm just trying to get to know my new home for the next nine months."

"Wow, you really are going to be trouble, aren't you?" asked Ava with a small laugh. Dean waggled his eyebrows as he took a bite of his lukewarm apple pie.

"Holy shit! Is that Lance Corporal Winchester?" Dean turned his head once again and this time he found himself face to face with a warm smile and bright eyes.

"That's actually Corporal Winchester now," said Dean standing up to face the Marine better.

"Shut up! You're a Corporal now?" The slim blonde girl stood straight and saluted. Dean saluted back then took her in his arms and swung her around.

"When the hell did you get assigned to the Colt?" asked Dean.

"I've been here for a year now. I transferred from the Wendigo. What are you doing here?"

"I'm here now, too. I've been reassigned. Hey, this is my brother, Petty Officer Winchester." Dean beamed as he introduced his brother.

"Yeah, yeah, I've seen him around. The Moose is what we call him," the girl said, barely glancing at the sailors. "I didn't realize he was your brother, though."

"Yeah, not much of a family resemblance," said Dean trying to ease the tension.

"Yeah, the blue and gold really threw me off."

"Jo, that's my brother you're talking about." Jo absorbed this for a moment before pursing her lips.

"Well, it could be worse. At least he isn't a flyboy." Jo turned to face Sam and introduced herself politely to him and his 'Sailor Scouts' as she called them later.

"Please, join us," said Sam. Jo looked as if she'd rather jump overboard, but then she looked at Dean and sucked it up.

"I would really enjoy that," said Jo painfully and took a seat next to Dean.

"Jo, or Lance Corporal Harvelle, and I went to boot camp together," said Dean.

"Yeah, I don't know if I could have made it through without Dean the Machine."

"I did basic training with Sam! We used to call him Sam the Lamb, but that doesn't sound so tough," said Ava, realizing halfway that maybe Sam didn't want that story out. "Sorry."

"Moose doesn't sound so bad now, does it?" teased Jo as she stole a French fry from Dean's tray.

"Get your own food!" Dean swatted her hand away. "I was saving the fries for last."

…

The next few days were easy for Dean. He met the Marines and of course he fit in easily with them. Having Jo Harvelle around was an unforeseen bonus. She was like a kid sister to Dean at boot camp, and it was nice to have a younger sibling that actually looked up to him. Dean tried to spend whatever time he could with Sam, which usually meant lunch or dinner. Luckily their schedules were pretty similar in that regards. Unfortunately it was the same schedule as the uptight flyboys. They just made any room they walked into instantly stuffy. They'd look around the mess hall and Dean could just tell they were judging everyone around them. There was one of them, a mean looking bald one with unforgiving eyes, that would sneer the entire time they sat in the mess hall. It made Dean angry because the guy might as well have just pointed to all of them and called them mud monkeys. It would have been more subtle.

Two weeks after his first day, Dean began to get restless. He had never been on a ship this long before. His bunk felt smaller and smaller everyday. He would go out onto the deck as often as he could, but it wasn't enough. The sight of the boundless ocean just made him feel as constricted as he did in his bunk anyway. He needed a distraction, something fun to take his mind off everything.

He sat with the Marines today instead of Sam. Maybe that contributed to it. They were all in a pretty hiked up testosterone mood. Henricksen kept goading Gordon and vice versa about who could pull in the most tail when they'd pull into harbor next month. Jo just kept her mouth shut about it and pretty much just continued a conversation with Garth, the skinniest, most underwhelming Marine Dean had ever laid eyes on. They were talking about some practice drill from a couple of months ago that Dean couldn't find in the deepest parts of his soul to be interesting on any level. He was about to consider moving to sit Sam and his Navy friends when Gordon rounded on him.

"You do well with the ladies, Winchester?"

"You bet your ass," replied Dean. Jo rolled her eyes. "What? It's the truth."

"Yeah, we'll see when we pull into harbor next month," said Henricksen.

"Why don't I show you now?" Dean sauntered over to where the red headed pilot was standing with her tray, collecting utensils for her dinner. Dean cleared his throat, but didn't elicit any sort of response. He turned around for a brief moment to see the entire mess hall staring at him. Well, it was too late to back down now. He cleared his throat again and this time the red head turned to face him.

"Did you need a lozenge? Sick bay is that way." She made to walk away, but Dean stepped in front of her.

"Maybe you could take me. I'm still pretty new on the Colt, and I'm afraid I'll get lost."

"Why don't you get one of your jarhead friends to take you?"

"You're much prettier and I thought maybe we could reenact a little bit of _Top Gun _on the way there." Dean could hear a few faint snickers coming from the Marine side of the room.

"Sure. I'll be Maverick and you be Goose?" A not so faint _'Ohhh!' _could be heard wash over the mess hall.

"Look, I just want you to show me your skills in the cockpit," said Dean, giving her a charming smile. The blonde one walked up to them to pull the redhead away. Dean decided to add, "You're welcome to join us, sweetcheeks." That's when the two fighter pilots put down their trays on the table, and Dean expected a couple of slaps, but what he got was a punch to the nose, then one in the stomach. He stepped back in complete shock. The Marines in the room stood up as did the flyboys. There were more Marines, but the room was cramped with so many people trying to eat, it wasn't really an advantage.

The flyboys pushed and shoved Marines who were eager to push back. Heated words were being exchanged, but nothing really serious until the blonde pilot got shoved by one of the Marines and she almost fell over. The next moment one of the pilots (the one that constantly sneered that Dean didn't like) swung and caught Gordon's face. Then hell broke loose.

The Marines and the fighter pilots were throwing punches and insults, while the sailors picked up their trays of food and moved to stand against the walls. Dean was trying not to hurt anyone, instead trying to yell over all the noise for everyone to calm down.

"_What the hell do you idjits think you're doing?"_ Dean turned his head at the sound of the words, but before he could see the owner of that ticked off voice, a fist connected with his eye.

"Dammit!" he yelled out in pain. With his one good eye he registered the fist belonging to a flyboy with dark hair and blue eyes.

"Break it up, goddammit!" The surly officer stepped between the two groups who had naturally separated like the red sea. The pilots glared at the Marines as they stood in their perfect straight line. "Now, who the hell started this mess?" Neither side spoke up. They just continued to shoot hard glares at each other. The older officer rolled his eyes. He walked over to the Navy squids who were still just trying to eat their food. No one volunteered any information, either.

"If one of you doesn't tell me, I will have everyone in this room doing training exercises for the next twenty four hours without a break." Dean sighed. God, he was such a screw up.

"It was me, sir." The Officer rounded on him.

"Boy, you better start speaking."

"I insulted a couple of the—Airforce pilots—and things got out of hand, sir."

"Which pilots?"

". . . I don't recall, sir."

"It was us, Lieutenant Singer," said the redhead. She and the blonde stepped forward. Lieutenant Singer raised an eyebrow at Dean.

"Well somebody better start explaining."

"This _Marine_ made a crude sexual pass at me, sir. I declined his sexual advance, but he would not leave me alone. Airman Salomaa tried to call me away, but the Marine just made another sexual advance towards her, implying he wanted both of us to accept his advances . . . together." Dean clenched his jaw. When put that way he felt as if a dirty rag was being smeared across his face.

"_That's why women shouldn't serve. You take things too seriously,"_ said a voice from the crowd.

"Sir, if I may speak freely," requested Airman Salomaa.

"Go ahead."

"If—" she looked at Dean with all the hate in the world as she took in his patches, "Corporal Winchester were to have made such inappropriate sexual advances like that to any other _crew member_ on this ship, they would have reacted in the exact same manner as Airman McNiven and myself." A small smile twitched in the corner of Lieutenant Singer's mouth.

"I believe you'd be correct. Now would either of you like to file a sexual harassment charge against Corporal Winchester?" Dean held his breath. Had he really just thrown away his entire career for a tiny bought with cabin fever? Both Airmen shook their heads. "And what about you? Would you like to file a charge against Airmen McNiven and Salomaa?"

"No, sir," answered Dean. The officer nodded.

"You three will surrender a day's pay for today's altercation. Don't let it happen again. As you were." Lieutenant Singer left mumbling "idjits" under his breath as he went. Dean wanted to go back up to McNiven and Salomaa, but the flyboys were already filing out of the mess hall. Dean went back to his seat. Many of the Marines slapped him on the back as if congratulating him on what a great show he'd just put on for them.

"Yeah, you're a real ladies man, Winchester," said Henricksen.

"Did you need some ice for when the tiny girl with the tiny fists punched you in your tiny face?" asked Gordon. Dean gave them a crooked smile. He was about to say something about how there wasn't anything tiny about him when he caught Jo's face. She had never looked at him that way before, as if he was some lowly disgusting parasite. She got up from her seat and left the mess hall, not even a goodbye to anyone or an explanation. He didn't want to draw attention to it, so he just kept quiet. He looked to Sam's table when Gordon began to steer the conversation about fishing. Sam looked up from his food and they locked eyes. He smiled at his younger brother who only shook his head and furrowed his brows, then looked anywhere but at Dean's direction.

What the hell, man?

…

The next day Dean sought out Jo. He knocked on the door of her bunk and flashed one of his most charming smiled at her when she opened the door. She looked at him the same way she had at the mess hall.

"What may I help you with, sir," she said through gritted teeth.

"Sir? What's up with you? You left yesterday without so much as a goodbye, while giving me the stink eye."

"God, Dean, you don't even understand."

"Understand what? Explain it to me." She pulled him inside.

"You are so thick, you know that? What you pulled yesterday, I thought you were better than that."

"Look, I didn't swing back at either of them!"

"It's not that, you jerk!" She huffed and Dean gave her a moment to catch her breath. "Those Airmen—McNiven and Salomaa? They're dicks like the rest of the flyboys, but they didn't deserve that."

"What? I was just having a little fun. I didn't know they were going to be so sensitive about it."

"Do you know how difficult it is to be a woman in the military, Dean? And to be on a goddamn metal ship with 5,000 men in the middle of the ocean?" Dean bit his tongue to stop the reply that was itching to get out. Jo obviously wasn't finished. "Twenty five percent of women in the military get sexually assaulted by her fellow soldiers. And that's only the ones that report it."

Dean looked down at his shoes, the shame of her words and obvious anger in her normally bright eyes overwhelming him at the moment.

"I didn't know," he said.

"Why would you? It's not a problem for you. When you treat any female soldier, Marine, squid, or even a damn asshole of a flyboy, you perpetuate the danger we face. Especially when you do it in front of others. It makes it a joke, like it's entertainment, like it's fun to taunt us sexually." Jo had tears in her eyes, and her body was shaking.

"Jo, are you okay?"

"No, Dean, I'm not. You want to know the reason I transferred onto the Colt? Because I almost got raped on the Wendigo. At first it was harmless joking, crude passes, getting felt up here and there, but one day a couple of jarheads, _jarheads, Dean_, got a little too drunk when we pulled into harbor and thought it was their goddamn God given right to take what they wanted from me. They were supposed to be like brothers to me, and if it wasn't for the fact that I keep my dad's old knife tucked under my pillow at night, they'd have done it." Jo was crying, streaks of tears running down her face. Dean felt anger course through him. He was angry at those Marines, at Jo having to have gone through that, and at himself. If he had felt like some dirty rag yesterday, how did McNiven and Salomaa feel?

"I'm sorry, Jo."

"It's not me you should be apologizing to." He nodded, instinctively knowing that hugging Jo would not have been comforting for her at the moment. "You're right. I didn't even realize how much of a giant dick I was being. Look, I'm sorry that happened to you, but if anyone here ever crosses the line, I don't care if they just look at you wrong, you tell me, okay?"

Jo gave him a small smile and nodded.

…

After Dean's duties for the day, he tried to find Airmen McNiven and Salomaa. He couldn't exactly ask anyone because he'd rather everyone just forget the whole thing, and seriously, this damn ship was bigger than he thought.

Finally he tried the hanger one more time and thankfully found both of them there. They were standing by the planes, talking to the flyboy Dean recognized to be the one that gave him the bruise on his right cheek. Dean approached them and they turned towards him, steely gazes in place.

"What do you want?" asked Salomaa.

"I came to apologize." They eyed him with suspicion. Dean out up his hands towards them to show them he meant no harm. "I shouldn't have treated either of you that way. I was out of line. I'm really not a big creepy pervert, I swear."

They didn't say anything back and Dean felt his smile falter.

"Well, I gave it a shot." He dropped his hand from the back of his neck and cleared his throat. "Look, I'm really sorry. I was just trying to ruffle your feathers, and I didn't think about how you'd feel about it. You shouldn't have to feel like you're not safe on board, or that you can't walk away from a douche bag that's hitting on you. I'm sorry."

Dean turned on his heel and headed out of the hanger the way he came. He was halfway to the exit when McNiven spoke.

"There's something you can do to make it up to us." Dean turned around with a ready grin.

"Name it, and it's done!" He instantly regretted the words when three identical conniving smirks appeared on their faces.

…

"It's a $10 entrance fee."

"Um, okay," said Sam as he pulled out a twenty dollar bill for him and Ava and gave it to one of the flyboys he'd never spoken to before. His British accent was really throwing Sam off. The flyboy smiled at him and Sam instinctively felt to make sure his wallet was safely in his pocket.

"I'll get you a couple of beers when we pull into harbor next month," Ava said.

"Don't forget," he said with a smile. They walked inside and found bleachers set up to face the planes. It was packed and Sam guessed all these people paid to get in, too. He and Ava stood on the edge of the bleachers next to Andy and Jake. Andy was clutching his sides as he doubled over in laughter. All the crew members of the ship were hooting and hollering, and laughing; the Marines, the Navy, even the Air Force personnel were all enjoying the show. Sam looked at what $20 got him, and his jaw dropped.

Dean was washing one of the fighter planes wearing only his combat boots and a camouflage patterned string bikini.

"Oh my God," said Sam. His face was contorted in utter horror. Dean's face was red, but he had plastered a cheeky smile on his face as he wiped the fighter plane. At one point he had to bend over to dip the large sponge back into the bucket, and he received scattered catcalls from the audience. He winked at the soldiers watching him at large, which only made them all laugh harder, and went back to his work.

The Marines especially were dying, some of them rolling in their seats at the hilarity of the situation. Dean kept on scrubbing. The flyboys stood together a little ways away from Dean, sometimes pointing out a spot he missed. He'd then go and wipe that part over again. After a while, Sam even joined in the laughter. Dean looked up and he caught his brother's eye. Sam waved at him. Dean's face broke out into a genuine smile and shrugged at his brother as if to say _"What do you think of my new look?" _Sam nodded his approval, knowing his brother was making amends for what happened yesterday. He remembered why he always looked up to him all those years ago. He'd always give up pride if it meant doing the right thing.

"What in God's name is going on here?" The entire hangar silenced itself and stood to salute Admiral Turner as he walked in. There were a few chuckles that couldn't be quite squashed, especially since they were all facing Dean who was covered in bubbles and sweat, still donning the bikini and combat boots, saluting and standing to attention.

Admiral Turner walked slowly up to Dean, surveying him with shrewd eyes.

"Corporal Winchester, would you mind explaining what it is you're doing?"

"Washing the fighter planes, sir!"

"Why?"

"They were dirty, sir." More chuckles escaped from the audience.

"And it's your duty to clean them?"

"It's all of our duties to make sure the USS Colt is in her top form, sir, including the planes that reside inside her, sir!"

"Boy, are you sass mouthing me?"

"No, sir! God, no!" Dean's eyes widened. Admiral Turner nodded. He took a moment before asking his next question.

"Corporal, why are you in a bikini?"

". . . It shows off my curves, sir!" Sam snorted at that one, and the entire room seemed to be holding back laughter. The Admiral's eyes snapped to the soldiers all watching, but there wasn't any anger in them.

"All right then, I can see this is just harmless fun. When you finish here, Corporal, I'd like you to go ahead and clean up the Officer's mess hall so that the USS Colt can be in 'top form'. I expect a full cleaning, top to bottom. And don't bother changing. I'd hate to rob you of another chance at showing off your curves. As you were," said the Admiral as he walked off. The hanger erupted in laughter and joy.

Dean hit his head against the plane he was cleaning and realized he was not going to be getting any sleep tonight.

"Hey, don't scuff the plane," growled Airman Salomaa. Dean sighed, put on a smile, and wiped that spot once more with the sponge.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading, and please leave a review! Oh, and if you can name which angel is which flyboy we've been introduced to, you get 1,000 points per correct answer! **


	2. Jarheads, Squids, and Flyboys

Dean whistled a little Led Zeppelin as lifted his tray from the counter. His eyes found Harvelle, Walker, and Henricksen soon enough, but he glanced towards the Navy side of the mess hall anyways. Sam was there with his nerdy bunch of Sailor Scouts. Dean continued his whistling through the guitar solo and made up his mind. He didn't come all this way to sit across the mess hall from Sam after all.

"Dean?" Sam asked as Dean plopped his lunch in front of his brother.

"Samantha?" In spite of himself, Sam smiled a little. Dean threw a casual wink at Ava who blushed just a little, but rolled her eyes.

"You could really try eating a salad or some vegetables once in a while," said Sam.

"Dude, it's pizza. There's tomato sauce." Dean said before taking a large bite out of the deep dish meat filled slice.

The rest of lunch went by with Dean, Andy, and Sam arguing about which is the best Chuck Norris film. They continued the debate the next day, too, when Dean sat at Sam's table again. Thankfully for Ava and Jake, the great Chuck Norris debate did not continue on the third day Dean sat with them. Unfortunately on the fourth day, Jo joined them and revived the whole thing when she casually mentioned her favorite movie of all time is _The Octagon_. On the fifth day in a row Dean (and now Jo) joined them, Ava announced that Sylvester Stallone made better movies just to annoy them all, which would have blown over after a minute or two of vehement argument from the table at large, except that's the day Garth and Henricksen joined them, and apparently they agreed with Ava (who hadn't even seen _Rocky_ or _Rambo_, she was just being a dick, but man did that backfire on her).

"I've never even seen any of those movies," Ava said on the sixth day, pouting.

"Well, today is your lucky day!" Dean clapped his hands once in excitement.

"What, are you guys going to reenact _Rocky_ for me and Jake?"

"You know, if you keep making that face it'll stay that way, Wilson," Henricksen teased.

"Ava! Call me Ava! I hate the stupid last name thing. This table, during meals, is on a first name basis, got it, _Victor_?"

"Yes, ma'am!" Victor mock saluted the petite sailor who laughed with the rest of the table.

"What are you talking about, Dean?" Sam asked with a concerned look on his face.

"We've been talking about movies all week, and I figured we should all watch one together."

"How are you going to make that happen?"

"It's all taken care of," said Dean with smirk which made Sam nervous.

…

It wasn't even seven o'clock yet, and the movie wasn't set to start until 7:15, or quarter past 1900 hours, but Jo, Garth, and Victor had to save five seats and didn't want to risk not getting them together. It was an 'order' from Dean. Garth munched on the popcorn as soldiers poured in. These weekly movie nights were always packed, even though they only showed "family friendly" movies approved by the civilian entertainment director they had on board. Unfortunately, she was a completely clueless twenty three year old ditz who thought military soldiers wanted to watch Disney Channel original movies. She wouldn't even choose to show Pixar or classic Disney films, either, they were stuck with preteen boys singing about their love lives. Or worse yet, she'd play those awful Lifetime original movies that Henricksen secretly loved and Jo would have to listen to him analyze the movie for the next two days. But still, people would show up to hang out, talk during the movie, or just relax with friends while the crappy movie played in the background.

Sam's giant frame appeared and Garth waved the sailors over. Many of the Marines sitting near them shot them angry looks.

"Where's Dean?" Sam asked as he took his seat next to Jo, ignoring the eyes he could feel on him. She shrugged as she stole some popcorn from Garth.

"Getting court marshaled, probably," she said through a mouthful of popcorn.

The lights turned low and Dean finally showed up. He was positively glowing with excitement. Sam opened his mouth to ask what was with him, but Dean shushed him.

"The movie is about to start," said Dean.

"So?" Sam asks, making a face at his older brother. Dean merely raised one eyebrow, then took a handful of Garth's halfway empty bag of popcorn.

The lights turned off completely, though the chatter of the hanger bay didn't. Dean smirked as he kept his bright green eyes on the projection screen. The movie flickered to life and it took Sam all of fifteen seconds to drop his jaw at the miracle his brother just pulled out of his ass.

"_Rocky_? You got them to play _Rocky_?" Sam's booming voice carried and pulled many of the soldiers away from their conversations. Soon the bay was quiet and transfixed on the movie.

"How'd you do this, Dean?" Sam whispered as Rocky tried to make a joke to the nerdy cashier at the pet store.

"I was playing some poker with some of the Sergeants last night. I cleaned them out of their money pretty quick, and I made a deal with one of them. I gave them back their money, well, most of it, if they'd play _Rocky_ tonight." Sam couldn't help but be impressed with his brother as he smiled wide.

"So you must be pretty good at poker," whispered Ava on Sam's other side.

"Why, you want to play a little strip poker later?"

"Dean!" Sam hissed.

"Just kidding, Sammy here'd have my hide." Sam made a face, but said nothing.

"No thanks, I saw plenty at the Hangar," she quipped. Sam's mouth twitched with amusement. "By the way, good stuff."

"Amen, sister," agreed Jo. "What? A girl's got eyes." She and Ava shared a look and giggle.

Dean chuckled and he knew Sam must have been fuming next to him. But hey, that bikini bottom was so skimpy he was practically hanging out of it. Dean was all charm and confidence about most things, and the size of his manhood was no exception. It was during high school when he first realized he was packing something special. Every girl that he had shown his, uh, _self _to, would gasp and their eyes would grow wide like friggin' UFOs with a mixture of slight fear and tremendous awe. In fact, even now he would get that same reaction, but the women he'd bed these days would be more excited than nervous. That's what happens when girls mature sexually, he supposed.

"No one will play with him anymore," Jo whispered to Ava as they both leaned over a Winchester brother.

"Why not?"

"He's too good. He cleans everyone out. Rumor has it he keeps all his winnings in a treasure chest he hid in Afghanistan."

"What, am I a pirate now?" Dean was rewarded with shushes by some of the jarheads in the row in front of them.

"Oh. I can't imagine most people want to play with someone they know will win." Jo nodded, both women still leaning over Sam and Dean.

"Plus he's a total dick about it." They shared another giggle. Dean noted with a scowl that no one shushed them.

"Well, I hear there's a pretty big poker game tomorrow night, and it's pretty exclusive. Andy's been trying to get in for the last six months!"

"What game?" Dean asked Ava. She shrugged and he got up (to the vocal disapproval of the people in the rows behind him) to switch seats with her so he could sit next to Andy. "Hey man, what's this I hear about a poker game tomorrow night?"

"Yeah, it's big money."

"What's the buy in?"

"Five thousand." Dean whistled at the sum, and was met with narrowed eyes by a beefy Marine in front of Andy. Dean flashed him a smile and Donkey Kong turned his attention back to the movie. Dean waited all of five breaths before he spoke again.

"How do I get in?"

"You don't. The only way to get in is to be invited. By a flyboy."

…

Dean searched through the makeshift theater for twenty minutes before he found them. Of course they were all sitting together. Dean could have almost kicked himself at his bad luck. Anna, the redhead's first name he had learned, wasn't there. Neither was Rachel, the blond Airman who, well, hated Dean. So, maybe it was a good thing she wasn't there.

He was just about to stalk off when one of the winged dickheads turned his head and Dean was caught in blue eyes. The pilot with a mean right hook tilted his head, but didn't break the stare. Even though the place was dark with only the light of the projection, those blue eyes were bright.

Dean blinked himself out of his stupor and walked over to him with a broad smile on his lips. Since Blue Eyes was sitting on the ends of one of the rows, Dean was able to squat next to him. The pilot didn't take his eyes off Dean the entire time.

"Hey, man. How are you guys liking the movie?" Dean whispered. Blue narrowed his eyes as if putting together Dean's puzzle pieces. "I, uh, was the one that got that together." No response. Dean's practiced smile faltered. "What's your name?"

"My name is Airman Castiel Novak." Dean was taken aback by the deep, gravelly quality of the man's voice. He himself had a low voice, but this nerdy Top Gun reject made him sound like a teenager.

"Hey, Novak. I'm Corporal Dean Winchester. You can call me Dean." Castiel just turned away from Dean and focused his attention on the movie. It was now or never.

"So, do you play poker?"

…

Dean handed the blonde flyboy his five large rolled up. He took a seat at the table, fantasies of taking all these arrogant pricks' money playing in his mind's eye. It was only 1800 hours, and Dean figured he could cram in a little Sammy time before he tucked in later tonight, his wallet wider.

They shuffled the cards as Dean threw in his small blind accompanied by a large grin.

At half past 1800 hours, Dean was out of chips and smiles.

…

Two days later, Dean was still sulking about his monumentally huge failure at poker with the flyboys. It had taken him the entire second half of _Rocky _to convince Airman Novak to invite Dean to the game. It had taken their smug Captain Zachariah Woody all of twenty minutes to take all of Dean's cash.

Conversation buzzed around him as he fingered his now soggy French fry. His mixed table of Marines and sailors tried to entice Dean with their talks about the movie on Friday, and of plans when they pulled into the port of St. Brieuc next month, but he would only grunt in response. He didn't tell any of them, ashamed of how easily he had been hustled. Hustled was the wrong term, after all, those airplane junkies had bragged about being good, but Dean just didn't believe them, or rather he believed himself to be better. He was cocky, and boy did he get pegged down a notch.

Dean left lunch early, wanting a little time away to feel sorry for himself when he practically ran into a grey jumpsuit in the hallway.

"Hello, Dean."

"Hey, uh, Novak?"

"Yes." Without another word, he handed Dean a stuffed envelope. He peaked inside and found it was overflowing with hundred dollar bills and twenties.

"What the hell is this?"

"It's your money from the poker game, well most of it. I fear you won't learn your lesson if I were to give you back all of it," said Novak. His stare was piercing and unwavering.

"Wait, why are you doing this?"

"It wasn't right of Zachariah to take your money, so I won it back." Dean raised an eyebrow at the nerdy looking flyboy in front of him.

"How did you win it back?"

"I'm a decent poker player, Dean." He said this without a hint of sarcasm or teasing in his voice. Instead he had on a serious face to match his uptight demeanor.

"I can't take this."

"Why not?" The pilot studied him and tilted his head as if he could see Dean more clearly at an angle. "You don't think you deserve it because you didn't win it back yourself." Was that a question, or a statement, Dean wasn't sure.

"Look, this is yours now." He tried to hand the envelope back to the strange pilot.

"No, Dean. It was always yours." The Airman continued to stare at Dean and after a small trance, he finally sighed and put the envelope away.

"Thanks, man. I don't know what to say. It's Castiel, right?" The blue eyed angel nodded, then turned around and walked away. Dean didn't realize he watched him until he was out of sight.

Dinner the next night was a much more agreeable meal for everyone at Dean's table. He was back to his old self, full of life, laughter, and stories that everyone could enjoy.

"That's strange," said Jo after one of Dean's stories about bootcamp.

"What is?" asked Ava.

"That flyboy is sitting by himself." Dean turned his gaze to the direction of Jo's words and saw Castiel sitting at an isolated table, away from the rest of the flyboys.

"Huh. I wonder why that is?" mused Sam aloud.

"I don't know," said Dean. He called out to the Airman from his seat, "Hey! Novak!"

The Airman looked up from his food in confusion and his eyes darted around the mess hall. Dean stood up and waved until he caught Castiel's attention.

"Cas! Come sit with us," he said. Dean thought the cafeteria's volume lowered by five or ten decibels, but he might have just been paranoid. The flyboys unabashedly stared at Castiel to see what he would do. After a moment of hesitation, Castiel picked up his tray and joined Dean. Truth be told, even his table seemed in shock. Thankfully Sammy was nothing, if not welcoming and polite.

"Hi! I'm Petty Officer Sam Winchester." He held out his hand to shake, and Castiel took it, though hesitantly.

"Yes, the boy with the long hair," affirmed Castiel.

"Is that what I'm known for to the flyboys?"

"Well, we don't pay attention to most sailors, but you stick out. You're also roughly the size a tomcat." Dean laughed at this. He clapped Castiel on the back which judging by the look on the Airman's face wasn't something he was used to. The rest of the table made their introductions, and Castiel apparently didn't recognize most of them, not even Jake who had apparently spent the better of six months pining after Airman Salomaa.

Castiel joined them for their next meal the next day. Dean spotted him, eating alone at a table near the rest of the flyboys, and called him over again. It happened the next five meals until finally Castiel would just make his way to their table once he and the other flyboys entered the mess hall.

The week flew by for Dean. He kept his nose clean, enjoyed his meals with his new eclectic mix of friends, and even started getting up two hours early to run around the ship's deck to start his day. He thought he was finally nailing this "living on a steel boat" thing.

Dean pulled his arm in front of him, breathing in the ocean air. His cotton shirt felt cool as it moved against his skin, manipulated by the breeze.

"Hello, Dean." Dean turned around and was face to face with Airman Novak.

"Oh, hey, Cas. Nice sweats. I don't think I've ever seen you in anything other than that damn grey jumpsuit."

"Thank you, Dean. I remember you mentioned you run at this time, and I thought we could run together."

"Try and keep up, though. I'm not slowing down my Marine stamina just for some flyboy."

They ran for an hour, and Dean was sweating bullets. His chest, calves, hamstrings, hell his _elbows _hurt from the demanding pace that damn blue eyed wing nut set. Of course he didn't dare admit that to him. He was sweating a little, and his breathing hard, but not like Dean. Dean wanted to double over, reach into his chest and squeeze his own heart until it slowed the fuck down.

But of course Dean pretended he was just fine, a smile and wave of his hand when they parted ways to start their days, but as soon as Castiel was out of sight Dean all but crumpled to the floor in a heap of sore muscles.

"Son of a bitch," he whispered under his breath as he dragged himself back to his bunk.

Dean was sore the rest of the day. Hell, he was sore the next day, too. And when Castiel joined him for his morning run again, he noted (with unsaid, but not unfelt appreciation) the much less rigorous pace the pilot set. He was so grateful he even let the damn flyboy get away with that smirk painted on his face when they met up for their second run.

"I do weights tomorrow," said Dean before the two parted.

"Which gym?"

"The one on the third deck."

"Ah, yes. The jarhead gym." A small smile played on Castiel's lips.

"Don't be scared, flyboy. Us jarheads don't bite."

"What a pity." Castiel said it so low Dean almost missed it.

...

"13, 14, 15!" Dean finished his set. Castiel helped guide his hands and spotted the bar back to its starting position. Dean sat up and wiped his forehead with his towel.

"Does it bother you that everyone has been staring at us since we arrived?" Castiel asked.

"A little. I'm sorry, Cas. I guess they're just not used to pilots coming around here."

"Yes, there is another gym near the hanger that the rest of my garrison frequents."

"Hey, speaking of that, can I ask you something?" Castiel stared at him. Dean supposed this was a yes. "It seems like you've kind of drifted from them recently."

Castiel turned away from Dean and took a moment to find the answer.

". . .They believe I need some time isolated from the garrison so that I may understand the gravity of my actions and their consequences to the infrastructure of our crew's dynamics."

"That dickhead Zachariah didn't like that you gave me back my money?"

"Yes."

"Maybe you should just apply for an early discharge and transfer over to the Marines," Dean joked.

"I rather love being a flyboy, Dean. My great grandfather served in the Air Force when it was first formed in 1947, and every generation has served since. This is the only life for me."

"I get that, Cas. Being a jarhead is everything to me, too."

"That's not exactly true," said Cas. "You care for your brother more than you care for your military career."

"What?"

"Dean, you are an excellent Marine. You're knowledgeable, intelligent, and far too competent to still be only a Corporal considering the length of your service, and level of skills. I also know that you requested to be transferred here on the USS Colt even though doing so meant being passed up for a promotion. And you obviously hate being trapped in a metal bin in the middle of the ocean."

Dean said nothing, but simply lied back down on the bench. Castiel positioned himself to spot Dean once more, speaking no more of Dean's military career.

...

"Hey, Cas. What are you going to do when we pull into port next week?" Sam asked as he stabbed his salad with a fork. Castiel looked over to the table of pilots before answering.

"I'm not sure."

"What? Don't tell me they're still going to be giving you the cold shoulder, even when we pull into port?" Dean said through a mouthful or mashed potatoes. Castiel merely shrugged. Dean scowled at the level of douche baggery the flyboys were capable of. "Fine. Let them be dicks. Just tag along with me."

"Dean."

"What, you don't mind, Jo?"

"No, of course not," said Jo. She turned to Castiel. "I don't, Castiel." Then she turned back to Dean. "Dean you know we already said we were going with Gordon and the other jarheads."

"So?"

"It's really great that you've widened your circle of friends, hell, look at me eating with squids and a flyboy! But you know how the other Marines are going to react."

"It's all right, Dean. I planned on staying aboard and doing some maintenance on my plane anyway," Castiel said, but not looking up from his meal. "Actually, I just remembered I have to leave now and start a training exercise." He took his tray and made his leave, careful not to meet anyone's eyes.

"Wow. I don't think I've ever been ashamed to be a Marine until just now," said Dean as he watched Castiel's back exit the mess hall.

"It's kinder to be cruel now than subjugate him to Gordon and the other guys," defended Jo. The sailors remained quiet. They themselves knew, though it was never spoken aloud, that they would be spending their free day with others in blue and gold. This mess hall arrangement was just that—only for the mess hall and the occasional entertainment event on board.

"Yeah, well fuck those guys. Cas is awesome." And with that Dean dumped the rest of his meal and headed to the hangar.

Dean was in the passage leading to the hangar bay when a deep voice called from behind him.

"Winchester!" Dean turned around and found himself alone in the passage with the snooty looking flyboy he particularly disliked.

"Airman Uriel, right?"

"I need to speak with you about Novak," he said, disregarding Dean's greeting. "Stay away from him."

"Excuse me?"

"Since you've—shown interest—in Castiel, he has been lost to us. He's a goddamn great pilot, and you're not worth destroying his career over." Dean wasn't sure how to respond. Uriel stared him down, but he refused to look away. Finally Dean found his words.

"Castiel can choose who he wants and doesn't want to associate with. That's called free will."

"Free will is overrated. You, Corporal Winchester, will cause Castiel to fall from grace." And with that, Uriel walked back in the direction where he came from me. Dean turned around and continued his search for Castiel. He found him standing by his plane.

Dean approached him, walking slowly to give Castiel time to make up his mind if he wanted to tell him to leave. Dean observed Castiel's plane. It had black feathers painted on the wings, and loose ones adorned the rest of it. Castiel walked and stood in front of his plane, the feathers looking a though they connected to his flesh instead of painted on the steel bird.

"Hello, Dean."

"Hey, Cas. I wanted to let you know that I'll be waiting for you right here at 0800 hours when we pull into St. Brieuc."

"You don't have to do that, Dean. You should have a good time with your friends."

"That's what I'm planning to do," Dean said as he flashed Castiel a smile. "I'm not leaving you, so there's really no point in arguing."

"Thank you, Dean." Castiel gave Dean a small smile and there was something in his blue eyes that made Dean unable to look away from them.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for all the feedback! I try and keep this as realistic as I can, but I do take liberties. I just want you all to know that! I researched ports and St. Brieuc is actually one! I don't know if it's a large enough port for an aircraft carrier to dock, but that's me taking liberties, I suppose! And ****I made Uriel's last name be Uriel because I thought it could be a last name. **

**Also, I made a _Psych_ joke in this chapter, if you're a fan of delicious flavor. **


	3. Art Over Strippers

Dean looked himself over in the mirror one last time. He pulled his dog tags down over his head to get the full soldier effect. His hair was a little longer than he usually wore it, but he purposely avoided getting a haircut over the last month. Civilian girls tended to like a little something to run their fingers through.

His only real mission tonight was to meet a pretty young thing while the Colt was docked. He checked his wallet one last time to make sure he had his . . . provisions. Three Magnum condoms were tucked inside the leather folds. A knock on his bunker snapped his attention and he shoved the wallet in his back pocket.

"Hey, Cas!" Dean greeted when he opened the door. "You're looking sharp."

"Thank you," the pilot answered. His dark hair framed the edges of his face, making his already intensely blue eyes stand out even more than usual. "I don't understand why you insisted that I wear my jumpsuit. Or not cut may hair yesterday."

"Because you look like Tom Cruise! All the girls are going to swoon when we walk in. A marine and a fighter pilot? Panties are going to drop so hard and fast there'll be craters all over the ground."

"That's an appealing visual you've created," said Cas dryly.

"Come on, man. What are you, scared of girls?" Cas looked away. "What, are you a virgin?" Dean joked. A blush crept over Cas's features and Dean was stilled immediately.

"Cas? You have had. . . you know?"

"I've never had occasion, okay?" Cas rubbed the back of his neck and looked everywhere but at Dean. Dean's jaw dropped.

"There are two things I know. First, Bert and Ernie are gay, and two, you're not dying a virgin. Not on my watch!" Dean all but pulled Cas, a new and more critical mission assigned to him.

...

Dean's determination to get Cas to lose his "v-card" was detered, at least for later that night. Cas managed to convince Dean to take in the sights of St. Brieuc's with him. It was actually more fun than Dean thought possible. Mostly because Cas acted like some alien from outer space, freshly landed and observing the human world for the first time.

"How have you never eaten cotton candy?" Dean asked as they stood in line at the small, old fashioned cart in the corner. The city was like something out of a fairy tale. The ground was made of cobblestones, the buildings made of aged and cracking brick, and even the sky looked too peaceful and blue to be be real. Dean paid for two giant balls of blue cotton candies (because they're men and if blue is available, always get blue over pink).

They sat on a bench facing the old chapel under the shade of a big oak tree. Dean chuckled as flecks of colored sugar stained the space around Cas's mouth.

"So, you like it?"

"Yes, eating this makes me very happy," replied Cas with an endearingly easy smile Dean hadn't seen before.

"Stick with me, Cas, and the world will be your oyster," said Dean. "So where to now? I heard some jarheads last night say there's this 24 hour strip club a couple of bus rides from port."

"I, uh, would rather not. But if that's what you would like to do, I suppose I can accompany you."

"No, man! It's no fun if you don't want to be there! I'll make you a deal, ok? Either we go to a bar later tonight and I'll be your wingman, or we go to the strip club now and I'll pay for your lap dance." Dean's eyebrows waggled at Cas, promising embarrassment either way.

"I suppose a bar later tonight would be the lesser of two evils," sighed Cas. "But since I'm agreeing to throw away my dignity-"

"-And virginity," interrupted Dean.

"-No promises there. Since I'm agreeing to your _plan_ for later on, will you accompany me there?" Cas pointed across the street.

"A beat up old church?"

"Some of those 'beat up old churches' are standing works of art. It's like being able to walk inside a life size three dimensional painting. We're able to be part of, feel, touch, and even smell the art, not just look." Dean sighed, but stood up from his seat anyway.

"Art over strippers? You're lucky I like you, man." Cas's lips twitched into a small smirk as they walked over to the fading cathedral.

...

"That's the arc angel, St. Michael," said Pastor Jim, a middle aged priest they met inside the old worn church. Pastor Jim was delighted to meet Americans in his church, and Cas in turn seemed happy to speak to him.

"That's always confused me, padre," said Dean. "I thought saints were regular Joes? Or do people become angels?"

"No, angels are different creatures than humans. A whale is not reborn as a human child. Humans do not turn into angels."

"Well, unless you buy into the reincarnation thing," said Dean.

"Which a Catholic priest doesn't," said Cas. He added in a playful whisper to Dean, "You ass." The priest smiled, waving off Dean's uncomfortable look.

"We refer to him as Saint Michael as an informal title. He isn't canonized officially, of course. He is considered the most important angel, being the general of God's army, the one responsible for defeating Lucifer and the fallen angels, defender of the Church, and being the weigher of souls on judgement day.

"I like to think of it like an honorary degree. Some colleges give people honorary degrees once they've achieved a monumentally high level of success in their respective field. Saint Michael has done so much for us, an honorary title is the least we can do."

"So angels are like soldiers," said Dean, enraptured in what the priest was saying.

"Yes. They are warriors of God."

"Is all of this in the Bible?" asked Dean. Cas nodded and Pastor Jim smiled, delighted to spark an interest in the soldier. "I thought it was just a really big book of rules and punishments."

"That's a common misconception. The Bible is full of testimony to God and our history. It's full of stories of faith, wrath, anger, betrayal, sex, love, hope, redemption, sacrifice, mercy . . ." The priest trailed off. He and Cas continued a conversation on angels and the lore behind them. Dean lapped up the knowledge, interjecting questions to satisfy his curiosity.

They ended up spending hours at the old church. Pastor Jim had church duties that called him away, which left Cas and Dean to explore the chapel.

Cas was enamored with every inch of the place; each brick, each crack, each wooden, hand carved pew. Dean touched everything. He slid his hand on the back of every pew. He flipped through multiple hymnal books, even though they were all identical. He flipped over the cushioned kneelers between the rows, and tested them out. The leather was torn on a few, and he felt which ones were lumpy, and which ones had barely been used in comaprison to the others. He dropped a few Euros inside the donation box near the framed tapestry of Our Lady of Perpetual Help. He and Cas kept near each other, never drifitng more than a foot away. Sometimes they'd brush elbows against each other, but neither said anything. Cas would whisper bits of information to Dean here and there, and Dean soaked up each word like a plant in the sun. Sometimes he'd ask a question and Cas would elaborate until Dean was satisfied.

"That priest was a decent guy," proclaimed Dean as Cas paid for two beers at the edge of the counter of the packed bar. The sailor and the giggling girl next to them left, leaving two barstools open. They settled themselves onto the seats.

"Yes, I enjoyed his company immensely," shouted Cas.

"Are you religious? Is that why, you know?"

"No. I'm actually just genuinely fascinated by the literary aspect of the bible. I like to read upon the traditions of the Catholic Church, but not as my faith. Some people are history buffs and have very specific time periods, or eras, or historic events. I'm into the history of the Church." Cas shrugged. Dean nodded.

"It's pretty loud in here, huh?" Cas took a swig of his beer bottle and Dean's eyes followed the bob of his Adam's apple. He had to take a drink from his own beer feeling a sudden tightness in his throat. "So what's your type, Cas?"

"My type?"

"Don't tell me you forgot our deal already? I'm your wingman for the night!"

"I don't really know. I suppose someone who is kind, and intelligent?" Dean rolled his eyes.

"I'm not trying to find your soul mate in this European bar, man. I'm trying to get you laid." Cas blushed and looked down. Dean took pity on the virgin pilot and continued, "How about this. Describe the last person that gave you a chubby."

"You're classiness knows no bounds."

"I'm serious! Not just physical stuff, okay? But tell me so I can scope out a few options for you."

"Fine. The last person I was attracted to had light brown hair. Fit, tan, really confident. Laughs a lot."

"Okay, so you're looking for a good time, no shy nerds or overly skanky. Down to Earth. I got it."

"And green eyes." Cas shrugged after he added the after thought.

"All right, I get it. Like a midwestern innocent type, eh? I don't what we'll find here, but we'll get something. Big breasts?" Dean added the last part with a quirked eyebrow. Cas flushed again. "You more of an ass man?"

Cas nodded with a resigned sigh, Dean imagined he was mentally preparing himself for the humiliation that was about to wash over him.

...

Dean made quick, but thoughtful work of his mission. He wooed a handful of girls before finally finding one with a sense of humor (and who spoke English) that had that innocent look about her. She had blue eyes, and dirty blonde hair, but Dean figured it really wouldn't matter in the dark. She was visiting her grandparents for the month, attending Brown University for her Master's degree in Sociology back home.

He introduced Cas to the girl, Amelia, and they hit it off. Amelia brought her best friend, a redheaded nerd named Charlie along when they moved over to where Cas sat. Dean was left to sweep this one off her feet, and he didn't mind. He liked the nerdy reserved type.

Only this one wouldn't shut up.

"I didn't understand anything you just said. What is tumble?"

"Tumblr. It's an online blog community," she tried to explain.

"It's like a porn site for nerds?" Dean winked and smiled. "Is it?"

"No," laughed Charlie rolling her eyes. "I mean, I guess some people post sketches of their ships, or whatever."

"Ships? It's porn with boats?" Charlie laughed loudly causing Amelia and Cas to turn towards her. She pulled Amelia's arm. "Let's go to the bathroom." The two girls left, promising to return. Dean watched them walk away, giggling with their arms interlocked.

"So what do you think?" Dean asked.

"Of Amelia? She's very pleasant. She keeps touching my arm and I am led to believe that means she finds me sexually attractive?" Dean almost choked on his drink.

"Yeah, I think you've got the green light. Question is do we take her back to the Colt?"

"We can't allow civilians on the ship." Cas squinted at Dean, tilting his head.

"What, you've never sneaked a girl into your room? It's part of what makes it hot. But I guess you're right, base camp and an aircraft carrier are a little different. Back to their place then, I guess?" Cas shrugged.

"How are you liking Charlie?"

"It's fine. It feels a little more like I'm talking to a geeky version of Jo instead of a tomboy. But she's cute." Cas nodded. An awkward minute of silence passed. Dean felt a tap on his shoulder and he turned around to Charlie and Amelia, arms still locked, blushing furiously.

"Do you guys want to get out of here?" asked Charlie. Dean looked over to Cas who stared at him. Dean nodded and flashed the girls a charming smile.

"Lead the way, ladies."

...

They ended up in a motel room. Amelia's grandparents were home, and Cas refused to sneak the women on the Colt. Fortunately they found a decent looking motel near the bar that was cash only. Unfortunately there was only one room available.

"At least it has two beds," said Amelia as they all entered the room. Charlie and Amelia sat at the far bed, blushing brightly under the harsh fluorescent light.

"So, uh, Charlie, why don't you sit with me?" Dean plopped himself on the bed and patted the space next to him.

"Well, I was thinking we could get a little more adventurous," said Charlie. Her face was beginning to match the red of her hair. She turned to face Amelia who looked up at her with curious eyes. Dean watched Charlie softly cup Amelia's face, then slowly leaned in to kiss her. It looked tender and at first Amelia was as still as a statue, but she melted into the kiss after the initial shock passed. Dean's mouth hung open, his eyes wide. His pants tightened at the scene in front of him.

"Uh, should we leave?" Dean had to tear his eyes from the still kissing pair on the other bed to look at Cas. He was standing by the door, his face looking just as shocked as Dean felt.

"No, you should stay," said Amelia in a hoarse whisper. Dean followed Cas's gaze to the other bed. Amelia's shirt was off, and Dean noted she was wearing a pink lace bra. Charlie was kissing her neck , fully immersed in what she was doing. Her hands wandered over Amelia's stomach. Amelia held out her hand towards Castiel who took it after Dean lightly shoved him towards the girls. Cas swallowed hard.

"Dean?" Cas asked as Amelia pulled him down to sit next to her on the bed.

"Don't worry, Cas. It's going to be okay," he cooed. Amelia kissed Cas while Charlie continued to worship her on her other side. Cas closed his eyes and began to kiss her back.

"Don't you want to join the party, Dean?" asked Charlie when she released Amelia's skin from her mouth to tug her shirt over her head.

"Just waiting for my invitation." Dean crossed the room and pulled Charlie up into a kiss. They broke apart. "That was weird."

"Yeah," agreed Charlie. She leaned in to whisper in his ear. "So, I've been in love with Ames for the last four years, and obviously you have a thing for Top Gun over there, so what do you say we distract them?"

"Wait, what? I'm not gay," he whispered, keeping an eye on Cas to make sure he didn't overhear. He was still locked in a tonsil match with Amelia, so he assumed he was fine.

"Oh." Charlie eyed him up and down. "Are you sure?" Dean huffed a little, but Charlie only laughed. "Okay, fine. But how about I let you two watch."

The thought was appealing. Dean quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Is this an interactive show?" Charlie gave him her best kicked puppy look.

"Come on, Dean. Do me this solid. Be a bro." Dean couldn't help but smile at her. She smiled back, knowing victory was hers. She jutted her chin in Cas's direction. Dean cleared his throat.

"Hey, Cas. What say you we let these beautiful ladies take off their clothes for us?" Cas pulled away from Amelia and caught Dean's eye. His electric blue eyes were dark, tinted with lust. Dean felt a jolt of desire hit him. Charlie took this time to softly pull Amelia up by the arm. Dean sidestepped around them to give them room, seating himself next to Cas on the bed.

Amelia's slim fingers went for the fly of her jeans, but Charlie grabbed them.

"Let me." The redhead undid the button and fly with deliberate and slow movements. She held eye contact the entire time, and when she pushed the denim down from her hips, she leaned in to kiss Amelia. It was a heated kiss and it ripped a moan from Amelia's throat.

Dean and Cas sat and watched as the two women undressed each other. It was painfully, arousingly slow. They continued to moan into each other's bodies, forgetting the world around them.

When they finally fell onto the other bed, completely naked, hands exploring, Dean could not longer bear it. Before he knew what he was doing, the cool air swallowed his now free and erect cock. Charlie and Amelia didn't take any notice. The sound of a zipper next to him made him turn his head.

Cas was on his feet, stepping out of his grey flight suit. He wore a thin white cotton tee shirt and dark navy blue boxer shorts. Dean followed the hard lines of Cas's body. He lifted his arms to remove the shirt and Dean's eyes tried to swallow every inch of skin that showed. Cas's body was lean and muscled. The skin looked smooth, and tan, and dammit, Dean wanted to taste and nip at that skin.

"Shit," he whispered. He caught Charlie's eye as he turned away from Cas, afraid he would know what Dean was thinking. She looked from him to the now shirtless pilot, and Dean could have sworn he saw the cogs in her brain turn and work it out. Charlie smirked, removing her mouth from Amelia's left breast.

"So, I have an idea," said Charlie, sitting up. "It requires you two being naked."

Dean and Cas exchanged looks. Cas was practically naked anyway, and it was pretty hot in the motel room. Dean nodded and he and Cas proceeded to strip. Once they were both fully naked, Charlie motioned for them to sit in the bed opposite her and Amelia. They did, but Dean made sure to leave substantial space between them. Charlie whispered into Amelia's ear who burst into giggles. The blonde girl nodded and Charlie began to speak.

"You like watching us, right Dean?" Dean nodded, suspicious of her. "Cas?" Castiel nodded as well, though oblivious to a plot being executed at their expense.

"So if you want us to keep going, you'll have to show us," added Amelia. Dean's face grew hot as his jaw dropped.

"I don't understand," said Cas, looking back from the giggling naked women on the bed to the blushing naked man beside him.

"Do you like it when I kiss Ames?" Charlie asked Cas. Cas nodded. "So if you want us to kiss, then you have to kiss Dean. Wherever you touch Dean, I'll touch Ames."

Realization dawned on Cas. He looked down to the floor, kneading the back of his neck with his hand.

"If it makes you feel more comfortable," started Amelia. Cas looked up at her gentle tone. "What about I'll touch Charlie, and you copy with Dean. But, if you don't, then Charlie and I put our clothes back on."

Charlie's eyes widened in terror, and Dean almost let out a chuckle at the sight.

"Come on, Cas. You don't want to cock block me, do you?" Cas tilted his head presumably at her choice of words. Finally Cas looked to Dean.

"Are you okay with this?" Cas asked.

"Dude, I'm naked, aren't I?" He smiled at Cas who nodded. Now that they were facing each other, Dean finally took up the courage to look at what Cas what packing. Well, apparently they wore the same size in condom. Dean's throat tightened, confusion swirling in his chest, and lust flowing in his abdomen.

"Okay, then," said Ames. Dean stared at her as she pulled Charlie into a kiss. When she let go, they looked expectantly at Cas and Dean. Dean's courage washed away. He was about to jump up and run out of the motel. He was going to tell Cas to forget it. He was going to stick his head in the ground and never come back up. He was about to-

Cas grabbed Dean's jaw and kissed him. Holy shit.

It was awesome!

Cas had soft, wide lips and when Dean opened his mouth, Cas's tongue entered like it owned the place. The place that was his mouth. The kiss was rough, needy, and hot. Cas pulled away, licking his lips as he did so, and staring at Dean's mouth.

"That was hot," said Amelia. Then she pushed Charlie down on the bed. She kissed and nibbled at her neck, her collarbone, and then made her way to her creamy breasts. Amelia's tongue lapped at Charlie's pink nipple, occasionally taking it between her teeth to elicit moans from her. She looked up from what she was doing, raising her eyesbrows at Cas as if waiting for him, not stopping her onslaught on Charlie's body.

Cas gently grabbed Dean by the shoulders and pushed him down onto the creaky bed. He licked, and kissed, and bit at Dean's neck, making his way down to his collarbone, then to his chest, and finally to his perky nipples. Dean's whole body felt as if it were engulfed in flames. Dean had always known his nipples were a sensitive area, but the way Cas nibbled and sucked at them was positively criminal.

Dean's eyes flew open when Cas twisted his nipple while he teased it with his teeth. He processed Amelia now making her way lower on Charlie's body. She kissed her on the sides of her stomach, past her hips, then made it to the junction between her thigh and her-

Cas, true to his word was mimicking Amelia. He was now making his way down Dean's sculpted stomach. It felt strange, but not unpleasant to feel Cas's stubble rub across his skin. Cas slid his tongue inside Dean's belly button which tickled Dean. Cas's chin bumped against Dean's hard cock, and Dean had to bite his lip to keep from mewling pathetically. Then the stupid flybo kept going lower at an angle, stopping only to worship Dean's hip bone. Dean moaned loudly, not able to help himself any longer.

Cas lifted his mouth from Dean's body. Dean looked down to find Cas staring at him as he was inches, no _centimeters_ away from Dean's massive and aroused dick. Cas didn't break the stare whatsoever as he licked his lips, then took the head of Dean's cock into his mouth.

_"Fucking shit, Cas!"_ Dean moaned. He threw his head back and closed his eyes. It was almost too much. His dick felt rock hard and Cas's tongue swirling around it, and his mouth sucking it was driving Dean crazy. He was panting and groaning unabashedly. His hips jerked forward, but Cas merely accepted more of his cock into his mouth. Cas lowered himself even more and Dean could feel the back of his throat. Three of Cas's fingers tightened around the part of Dean's dick that didn't fit inside his mouth.

When Cas began to bob his head, Dean lost his mind. It was too much, and so damn hot he laced his fingers in Cas's hair and pulled him up, only slightly tugging at the soft locks. He attacked Cas's mouth which was welcoming.

They kissed roughly, their tongues fighting. Dean broke the kiss to clamp down on Cas's neck. He bit and sucked there as his free hand (the one not tugging Cas's hair) snaked down to grip Cas's hard cock. He pumped the skinnier man and continued his assault on his neck. He was finally tasting that skin, and it ust made him want more.

When Dean flipped them so Cas was on his back on the bed, he straddled him and stared at the disheveled fighter pilot underneath him. Cas fisted Dean's dick and pumped him in time with Dean's rhythm. They were moaning and breathing hard. Dean knew he was pulling harder at Cas's hair, but Cas was throwing his head back and seemed like he liked it. Cas's free hand found its way to Dean's nipple and began to squeeze and tease it.

"Fuck, Cas. I'm close."

"Dean, Dean, Dean," was the only thing Cas could say. His blue eyes closed shut.

"Open your eyes. I want to see, I want you to see. . ." Dean managed to say through wrecked breaths. Cas opened his eyes.

"I'm going to come," whispered Cas.

"Yes, come for me. Come for me, Cas. Fuck you're so hot. Fucking come for me!" He did. Cas's body stiffened and jerked wildly. He came hard with Dean's name ripping out from his throat like a swear word. Dean came as he watched the white spurts of semen come out of Cas's cock. He fell to Cas's side, euphoria enveloping him.

"I've never come that hard," he said. He was out of breath like the first time he ran with Cas.

"Fuck, that was. . . it was. . ." Dean chuckled at Cas's loss of words.

"So that's how to get you to shut up," Dean teased. Cas laughed. They heard a light snoring from the other bed. Charlie and Amelia were passed out. They were naked and in a heap of limbs and hair. Their skin was slick with sweat, and Dean noticed he and Cas looked just as messy. "It smells like sex in here."

He and Cas laughed. Dean breathed in deep as a heaviness settled around him. He turned to look at Cas whose eyes were beginning to droop. He managed to find his white tee shirt and wiped his stomach of his and Dean's come. He handed it to Dean who did the same. He tossed it on the floor. Cas reached over and pulled the string hanging from the lamp. Seconds after darkness claimed the room, sleep claimed him and Cas.

* * *

**A/N: Whoa. I don't even know how we got here. I've never really written anything like this. So, yeah. I know, I know, you came here for the Destiel, but you got a side of Charmelia. Hey! It's like a new pokemon!**

**Just to be clear, this Amelia is Amelia Novak from canon. You know, Jimmy Novak's wife. I know Sammy has his own Amelia, too, but it's not that one! **

**Don't forget to review!**

**By the way, THANK YOU to all of you reading, reviewing, and/or enjoying this fic. Find me on tumblr, the site of boat fetishes, according to Dean. **

**CASSIOPEIAMERCUTIO dot TUMBLR dot COM**

**And finally, thanks to zackisamoosed on tumblr for helping me out with this chapter. *tumblr friends***


	4. Knees to Chest

Morning flooded from behind Dean's (at this moment) too thin eyelids. He blinked his eyes until he was used to the brightness of the room. A warm feeling settled in his stomach as he stretched his limbs. He could feel smile spread across his face.

"I slept like a baby," he said to no one in particular. A rustling beside him caught his attention. "Oh, shit."

A sleeping, naked Cas lay beside him. Dean turned his head (because that'll make it all go away, Dean) and found the other bed already empty. There was a note on the nightstand next to his head.

**_Hey Soldier Boys!_**

**_Sorry to take off on you! Last night was (as Nine would say) FANTASTIC! Thanks!_**

**_XOXO,_**

**_Charlie and Ames_**

"They've left?" Dean almost fell off the bed.

"Geez, Cas! You almost gave me a heart attack!"

"My apologies." Dean handed him the note. They were still both lying in the same bed, neither one moving to get away. "They were nice girls."

"Yeah. I think that's Charlie's email on the bottom." There was a pause that was filled with the sound of birds chirping outside. Still they both lay there naked, but not touching. Dean's eyes flicked towards Cas's nude form. "Morning wood?"

". . . Yes." Cas looked down at his erection almost as if shocked to find it there.

"Well, you're not the only one," Dean joked. He pulled back his own erection with a single finger, and it bounced right back against his stomach. Dean tried to smile, because what's funnier than a bobbing erection in an awkward situation, right? Cas looked up from his . . . stomach to his eyes. Dean felt the heat in the pit of his stomach flare up. They stared at each other, each as still as a statue, daring the other to make the first move.

"Last night was fun," breathed out Cas. His breath was warm as it blew against Dean's face. They were closer than Dean realized, or perhaps they had gravitated towards each other? He could smell faint traces of last night's beer. "You have an eyelash. . ." Cas reached out brushed Dean's cheekbone with his thumb. Slowly he placed his warm palm against Dean's scruffy cheek, sliding it around to the back of his head. Dean felt fingers twist into his hair, angling for a grip on the short hairs. Cas pulled him towards him and captured him in an open mouth kiss.

Dean moaned and wrapped himself, limbs, lips and tongue, all around Cas.

_Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!_

Cas pulled away, leaving a trail of kisses along Dean's face and neck as he rolled off the bed. He grabbed his crumpled jumpsuit, keeping one placating hand on Dean. He frisked the uniform until he found a pocket and pulled out a black flip phone.

"Hello. Yes, Anna, of course I'm fine. . ." Cas's hand lay still on Dean's thigh. His eyes glazed over and he stared at the ripped curtain that hung on the window. "I went out to explore . . . Yes, with the jarhead." Dean sat up and placed a kiss on Cas's collarbone. Cas turned his head towards Dean and smiled. Dean liked that. "We have free time until 0800 tomorrow, I thought. . ." continued Cas. Dean's mouth found a spot between Cas's collarbone and neck and kissed it. "It's not a problem. I am still as focused as ever. . ." choked out Cas as Dean began to nip and lick at that spot. "Yes. Goodbye, Anna." He flipped the phone shut and sighed.

"Are they going to send out a search party for you?" Dean asked in between kisses on Cas's neck.

"No. But I'll most likely hear about it tomorrow if not tonight."

"Tomorrow? That's a whole day away." Cas smiled as he pulled away from Dean who may or may not have involuntarily whimpered, but all that washed away when Cas kneeled in between Dean's legs.

Dean's cock twitched in hope. They locked eyes. The flyboy licked lips unabashedly then lowered his face, never breaking eye contact with Dean who, at this point, was holding his breath. When his warm mouth took the head of Dean's dick, Dean let out a moan and with it all other thoughts in his brain except for Cas.

...

Dean and Cas waited to board the Colt with the rest of their fellow soldiers. Since there were so many people all cramming to fit to come aboard, no one looked twice at the fact that they stood close enough to each other to touch. Dean grinned like a fool, and he knew it, but he couldn't help it. He spent all morning exploring Cas's body, and Cas did the same to him. He wasn't sure which he enjoyed more.

They checked out of the motel, grabbed lunch in a European version of Biggerson's, then went back to exploring St. Brieuc's. They visited some art gallery that featured paintings by some local artist that painted fairy tale characters. Dean thought them 'good', but it was Cas that was thoroughly fascinated by them. Dean enjoyed watching Cas's face light up as he explained to Dean what he felt when looking at the paintings, and listening to Cas's voice. They found a small music shop a few doors down from the gallery. Dean spent an hour just looking and touching the guitars. When Cas found a shelf of violins, he had the same expression on his face as when he looked at that painting of the sad Little Red Riding Hood. They went by the lake the music store and gallery. They walked around all three miles twice, feeding the ducks and swans with a giant loaf of bread they bought from the bakery across the street. They may have taken a couple of detours to make out behind some bushes off the main trail, and maybe the third time it escalated to a couple of reciprocated and sexy as all hell hand jobs.

All in all, it had been a great stop in port for Corporal Dean Winchester.

They chatted and laughed, then broke apart and went their separate ways once aboard. Dean headed back to his bunk while Cas had to report to the hangar bay for a little one on one with Captain Zach. Dean clapped him on the shoulder to wish him luck, but really he wanted one final contact before bidding him goodbye. Obviously a goodnight kiss was out of the question, but no one could find fault in a friendly pat on the back, right?

That night Dean fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow, dreams of blue eyed angels with black shadow like wings taking over his subconscious.

...

Dean had only morning duties the next day. He finished his work early, donned a simple grey shirt that read **MARINES** in bold block lettering, and grabbed a second breakfast with Sammy and the squids at the mess hall. He was half picking at his muffin when Garth ran in, looking like an oversized hound that had been kicked around too many times.

"Dean!" The gangly lance corporal ran to their table, breathing harshly.

"You jarheads should really invest in more cardio," suggested Ava. Sammy smiled as Dean quirked a halfheartedly angry eye brow at her.

"What's going on, Fitzgerald?" Garth saluted and stood to attention. Dean was feeling like he was reaching a new level of 'done.'

"At ease. What the hell, Garth?"

"That flyboy you hang around with, Ole' Blue Eyes?"

"What about Cas?" Dean felt his throat tighten.

"You need to come with me right now."

...

There was a small crowd gathered around in the middle of the hangar bay. The grey suited flyboys comprised the center, which didn't surprise Dean at all. He locked his jaw in a tight squeeze, unconsciously bracing himself for what he was about to walk into. The jarheads and squids parted as he approached, tight eyes following him.

Bright red hair turned to reveal a resigned Anna.

"Where is he?" Dean demanded. He didn't take his eyes off the porcelain skinned airman in front of him. He could feel heads turning his way, no doubt scowling flyboys included. The tension in the hangar bay was palpable, despite it being open.

"This is none of your concern, jarhead." Uriel's words dripped with taunting. Dean turned away from Anna to address the son of a bitch. Before Dean could open his mouth, the heavy breathing in the center of the circle tore him away from the confrontation.

Dean's face dropped, an action parallel to that of his heart's.

_Cas._

He was in a white tee shirt, his grey jumpsuit only halfway done up to his waist. He was sweating through his shirt, and his hair clung around his face. He held an AR 15 in the air, both hands outstretched high over his head. Cas ran in place, knees to chest, then systematically would drop to the ground, placing the AR beside him, and perform a round of pushups. Then he'd repeat the cycle. His face held no emotion as he continued the routine. His eyes were blank and listless as he surged forward. His stare was fixed on some chosen mark, and Cas's didn't stray, not even to spare Dean a glance.

"What the hell is going on here? Why is Cas being punished?" Dean shouted towards Uriel who was smirking at Dean's pained expression.

"He's not being punished. He's being trained. He is being reminded how to focus, and what it means and what it takes to be a flyboy," spit out Uriel. Dean felt a snarl start to rise from his chest.

"How long has he been like this?"

"Half an hour, maybe?" answered Zachariah, appearing from nowhere. Dean's hand balled itself into a fist at the way Zachariah's upper lip curled into a smirk.

"How long until he stops?" Zachariah shrugged unconcernedly. Dean watched Cas. His face was red, and he was sure his body must have felt like it was on fire. He saw the bruises he left on Cas's neck, and he realized he was not the only one to have observed them. Some soldiers were openly pointing at them and snickering.

"Is this about pulling into port?" The captain of the flyboys turned to face Dean. He raised an eyebrow as if to dare Dean to continue. "So Cas let loose a little. We found a couple of American college girls in a bar, and had a little fun. That's not exactly worthy of a court martial."

"I know you . . . _marines_," Zachariah spit the word like it were something slimy on his tongue, "don't care much for self-presentation, but as part of the Air Force, we fighter pilots value our uniformity and cleanliness. It is a representation of our solidarity. Our garrison is not compromised of small pieces coming together to form a group. We are one strong, formidable unit of the Armed Services. We are one beast with six wings and four faces, one of which is a lion! When one is weak, when one strays from the solidarity, we must either cure that cancer, or cut it off."

"So Cas is the cancer of your little club?" Zachariah laughed.

"You stupid little grunt." Dean had to physically swallow to abate his anger. He opened his mouth to say something, but Anna shook her head and interrupted him.

"You cannot save him from this." Dean looked from her, to Cas, to the ever growing circle of soldiers witnessing Cas's shame as if it were entertainment, then back to Cas.

"No, but I can suffer with him." And with that, Dean grabbed the identical AR 15 from Anna's hands and joined Cas. He fell into the same rhythm easily.

_Knees to chest. Knees to chest._

_Drop to the ground. 1, 2, 3, 4 . . ._

Dean fixed a point across the bay and kept his eyes locked on it when he was _knees to chest_. He emptied his mind and focused on the pumping of his boots against the cement ground, the heat of his face, the scream of his muscles as he continued the labor. Minutes melted away until Dean's sweat began to drip into his eyes. He blinked the cool sweat away, refusing to break his rhythm or concentration. His body was a tool, just a tool. He could will it to do what he needed, if his will was strong enough. Numbness crept over Dean.

"Dean?" Sammy's voice shattered Dean's labor induced trance. He tried to keep his face neutral. "What the hell are you doing?" Sammy planted himself right into Dean's eye line. He didn't answer, but he soaked in Sammy's troubled face. Lines that were too old and too sad for Sam gathered on his young face. Dean saw Sammy stare at him, then to Cas. When he fell to the next round of pushups, he could only see Sam's boots from the top of his vision as he stared at the grey slab of ground.

When he made it back to _knees to chest_ position, he could almost see Sam work out what happened. Garth and he spoke, but he couldn't catch all the words, his arms flaring up and dividing his focus as he kept them outstretched high, the weight of the rifle gaining with each second.

Sam pulled a bitch face (as Dean referred to the faces Sam made in his mind) and stared into Dean's eyes. He almost furrowed his eyebrows to question Sammy, but before he could process it fully, Sam sighed.

"Dammit, Dean." Then his tomcat sized brother grabbed an AR nearby and placed himself on Dean's other side. Sammy fell into the same routine as he and Cas. Dean buried down the surge of affection and pride he felt for his brother, saving it for later.

And they continued like that, suffering together; a fallen flyboy, a loyal jarhead, and a bitch faced squid.


	5. Team Free Will

"What the hell is happening on my ship?" The crowd stood to attention, parting just enough for Admiral Rufus Turner to make his way to the center. Sam, Dean, and Castiel stood to attention as well, forfeiting their punishing pace. Dean wondered if steam was rising from him, the contrast of the burn of his muscles so unlike the cool sweat clinging to his skin. His lungs felt singed and his knees felt shaky. He knew Cas's endurance outweighed his own, but he couldn't imagine an additional half hour of that exercise.

"Well is somebody going to answer the admiral, goddammit?" Dean recognized the gruff voice at once. It was the same lieutenant that had interrupted the brawl he inadvertently started a few weeks ago at the mess hall. The older man appeared in his line of sight. Dean saw the man roll his eyes. "Why is it, whenever something happens, is it always you three?"

"Winchester?" Admiral Turner barked.

"Yes, sir!" answered Dean and Sam in unison.

"You know what; I actually want to hear from the flyboy. What's your name?"

"Airman Castiel Novak, sir!"

"Novak. Okay, Novak, care to tell me what it was you were doing when I got here?"

"I was engaging in a physical exercise consisting of running in place while holding an AR15 in the air for a beat of—"

"Why, Novak?" interrupted the admiral.

"So that I can be reminded of my focus and discipline, sir!"

"All right, all you idjits that ain't sweating like a ball sack in flannel underwear can get the hell out of here. Dismissed!" Lieutenant Singer growled. The hangar emptied out leaving the admiral, the lieutenant, and the three boys. "At ease, you numbskulls."

"All right, Air Force. I'm assuming you were getting punished by your captain for something. I want to know how a jarhead and a sailor got involved." Admiral Turner turned to Dean and raised one eyebrow.

"My duties were done for the day, sir, and when I saw how much, uh, _fun_ Cas—I mean, Airman Novak was having I decided to join in," Dean replied. He could practically taste the stupidity as it rolled off his tongue. The admiral turned to Sam next.

"And what about you, Tiny?"

"Um, I just—I guess I just want to be like my big brother, sir?" Dean chanced a glance at Sam who threw him a small shrug of his massive shoulders accompanied with a wide eyed look.

"Okay, so what the hell are you three really doing? Did you lose a bet? Are you being blackmailed?" Not one of the three men made to answer. "So you three volunteered to perform this excruciatingly punishing training exercise in front of the entire ship. And you did it for so long that you've soaked through your shirts and look as if you've just spent an afternoon in a sauna. Okay."

The admiral faced Dean directly, locking his dark eyes onto his.

"You got anything to say, Winchester?"

"Sir, I _chose_ to do this exercise with Airman Novak."

"And you?" he asked, turning to face Sam.

"Yes, sir."

"You?" This time he was facing Cas.

"I chose to perform this exercise to show my garrison my commitment to them out of my own free will, sir." Lieutenant Singer snorted.

"You hear that, Bobby? Team Free Will over here causing a disruption in the middle of my damn ship, and they're standing here like their proud of what they're doing? Can you believe these suckers?"

"I can believe it, sir," answered the surly lieutenant. "These idjits have been causing something of a ruckus lately."

"Is that right?" asked admiral. Dean felt the ache of every muscle in his body, but he made sure to keep his posture perfect and stiff for the two officers even if they were speaking as if he, Sam, and Cas weren't present. Lieutenant Singer nodded. He turned to Dean. "I heard about the mess hall altercation, what else?"

"I'm not sure, sir," replied Dean. He tried to search his mind for other altercations, but couldn't find anything that would fit.

"Bobby, he's playing the clueless card." Dean could have sworn he heard 'Bobby' roll his eyes.

"_Rocky _for movie night for a start. That Becky girl threw a fit about messing up her programming schedule." He snorted.

"How did that happen?"

"That damn Ash kid. You know, the one with too much brains, and not enough liver. Apparently Corporal Winchester here is good with cards." Dean watched as the Admiral shoot 'Bobby' a look of. . . mischief? No, that's wrong. Decorated officers didn't conspire and make mischief.

"How good?"

"Not as good as the flyboys from what I hear." The Admiral let out a bark of a laugh. Dean clenched his jaw at the memory of losing all his money to the biggest dickhead on board. "And damn it if the jarheads haven't all gotten defensive about flyboys, and I quote 'hanging around the Marines only gym.'"

"We don't have an exclusive gym for the marines," whispered the Admiral.

"I know," Bobby whispered back. "But the damn jarheads don't seem to get that." They exchanged looks and Dean could tell the wheels were turning in their brains, and a ghostly feeling crept over him, knowing whatever was turning in their minds would surely blow back on Dean somehow.

"All right, you three are dismissed. Go, rest up. Your exercises in, uh,_ focus_ and, what the hell was it? Oh yeah, _discipline_ are done for the day. Hell, take tomorrow off, all three of you. I'll talk to your captains. Dismissed!" They saluted together like one unit and marched off towards the nearest exit of the hangar bay.

"Holy shit, my arms feel like they're going to fall off," sighed Dean when they reached the hallway. "How are you feeling, Cas?"

"I'm fine, Dean. Why did you do that?" Castiel stopped in his tracks and focused his eyes directly on him. "I couldn't let you suffer alone."

"Suffering yourself does not lessen my burden, Dean."

"It wasn't—Are you mad at me, Cas?" Dean felt his chest tighten worse than the countless rounds of pushups.

"I am simply trying to understand your motives. Your superior did not demand you to participate in any exercise, yet you chose to throw your lot in with mine." Dean didn't know how to answer him, so he didn't. Instead they just stared at each other until Sam spoke.

"What the hell was all that about anyway?"

"My captain seems to think I've grown too attached to outsiders," Cas reported.

"Is this about lunch? Because you started sitting with us because they ditched you," Sam pointed out, indignant irritation clear on his features. Cas nodded, looking down at his shoes.

"I'm starving. Let's get some food," Dean suggested.

"I don't feel like fielding a hundred questions from everyone, though," Sam groaned.

"I'm sure we can get Jo or Garth to pick us up some food and bring it to my bunk. I, uh, I'm pretty sure we'd fit."

"We can eat at my bunk," volunteered Cas. "It has more space." The Winchester brothers accepted his invitation. They followed Cas while Dean texted away, finding someone that didn't have chores who could bring them food.

"Hey, I know this place," observed Dean as Cas let him and Sam inside. "This is where Zach held poker night."

"It's my bunk. The garrison often uses it as the location for our poker nights."

"How'd you score this? It's bigger than most officers'," asked Sam as he plopped down on an empty chair.

"Our garrison offers larger spaces to those we promote within our group," answered Cas as he threw fresh shirts towards Dean and Sam. Dean watched as Cas peeled off his own sweat soaked shirt. He followed the lines on his back: the angles of his shoulder blades, the dip of the outline of his spine that reached to where the folded over jumpsuit started…

The sound of fabric ripping snapped Dean back to his senses.

"Uh, do you think you have a bigger shirt?" Dean tore his eyes from Cas's back and quickly switched his shirts. A laugh tore through him once he saw his brother. Cas's shirt was ripped down the neck and arm holes. Even Cas smiled at his overgrown brother. He rummaged through his things until he found something for Sam.

"Thanks, man. Hey, can I use your bathroom?" Cas nodded and Sam left. Dean found himself sitting at the foot of Cas's bed, with his legs crisscrossed the way kids do when they sit for circle time.

"I can't believe you have a private bathroom all to yourself. So, you're high up in your garrison?"

"Yes. I lead every training mission."

"How long have you been top dog?"

"For two years now. Ever since Anna stepped down." Cas took a seat on his bed, backing up enough so that the back of his knees were on the top of the bed. Dean shifted so that their knees touched.

"Why'd she step down?" His eyes flitted to the bathroom door before reaching out and tracing some invisible pattern on Cas's thigh.

"She was having doubts about her commitment to the Air Force."

"What happened?" Dean's hand crept higher.

"Anna considered leaving the military in hopes to one day start a, what she called, _normal _family. She changed her mind, but Zachariah decided her moment of—" Dean palmed Cas's half hard cock.

"Of what, Cas?" Dean cooed, raising one cocky eyebrow at Cas.

"Of, um, _doubt_ constituted a reconstruction of leadership amongst our ranks." Cas was now breathless and fully hard.

"So do you like being in charge?" Dean's own voice was raspy as he tugged at against Cas's hardness through the clothing. The flyboy opened his mouth to answer when the click of the bathroom lock interrupted them. Dean retracted his hand, but neither made to move their knees.

"Thanks for the shirt," Sam said, taking the same seat he took earlier. "My arms are killing me."

"Yes, I fully empathize with you," added Cas, rubbing his upper arm. "I would like to thank you for act of solidarity today. You didn't have to do that."

"Don't sweat it, Cas. You've done enough of that today," joked Sam. They spent the rest of the afternoon talking. Sam and Cas shared with Cas stories of their childhood back in Lawrence, and Cas shared his own. It turned out Cas's father was absent from his life, and had a similar upbringing to Dean and Sam's. Garth showed up just to drop off some chicken patty sandwiches, fries, and pie. Cas had sodas and waters in his small refrigerator.

"Hey, before I go, I wanted to give you guys a head's up. I don't know about everyone else, but Gordon and some of the other marines aren't happy about the stunt you pulled out there, Dean. I think it's great. I thought you should know." Garth spared them a smile then left for laundry duty. Halfway into the pie, as Sam was relating a particularly embarrassing story about Dean, a forceful knock came from Cas's door. Dean and Sam froze. Cas scooted off the bed and answered it.

"Castiel, may we come in?" Dean recognized the nasally voice belonging to Zachariah.

"Of course, Captain." Cas stepped back and Zachariah walked in followed by Uriel. A look of surprise came over his face when he spotted Sam and Dean.

"And what are you two doing here?"

"Just hanging out with Cas," Dean answered. He leaned back against the wall and shot him a charming smile.

"Yes, I can see that." Zachariah's lip curled upward in disdain. "Really, Castiel? This bunk is a reward, a reminder for distinguished service to our garrison, and you use it to entertain outsiders? Well, this certainly vindicates my decision." Dean observed Uriel stand up straighter, and then looked to Cas. His face betrayed nothing.

"Effective at the end of the week, Uriel here will be moving in here. I think a reconstruction of the leadership roles is in order." Cas nodded.

"I understand, sir." After another judgmental sweep of his eyes over Sam and Dean, Zachariah left with Uriel in tow.

"Shit, Cas. I'm sorry," offered Dean.

"Yeah, Cas. That really blows," added Sam. "We can go if you want time to yourself."

"I would appreciate that. Thank you, Sam." Dean and Sam grabbed their sweat soaked shirts and left. When they were in the hallway, Dean stopped.

"What's wrong?"

"I left something back in Cas's bunk. I'll see you tomorrow, Sammy." His younger brother nodded. Dean turned around. He felt a flutter in the pit of his stomach when he reached Cas's door. He knocked before he could question himself.

"Dean."

"Hey, Cas. I know you said you wanted to be alone, but. . ." The unfinished statement hung in the air. Cas seemed to mull it over in his mind. Dean's heart beat so loud he thought Cas could hear it. Finally, Cas reached out and grabbed Dean by the shirt and pulled him into his bunk.

They ended up sleeping for the next ten hours. When Cas pulled Dean's shirt, he smashed their faces together. It started off hot and heavy, but the ache of their muscles soon out screamed the throb of their libidos. So they slept. The night eased their worries, their discomforts, their doubts, their fears, their embarrassments. . . When they woke up the next morning with sore muscles and hard ons, they fell into passionate sex.

"Show me that marine stamina you've been bragging about," rasped Cas. Dean growled at that and ripped the few articles of clothing Cas still wore.

He licked, bit, and sucked on the fading bruises on Cas's neck. He worked his way down Cas's body; all hands, tongue, teeth, and lips. When Dean reached the bottom of Cas's abdomen, he looked into the other man's eyes and licked his lips slowly. He took Cas's cock into his mouth with an unabashed groan.

"Fuck, Dean!" Cas moaned. His eyes rolled to the back of his head without permission as Dean began to bob his head up and down. Dean fought to keep his eyes open, though there were moments the heat of his dick was too much to bear and he had to shut his eyes for a moment to take control. He wanted to watch Cas.

"Wait, Dean." Cas's fingers gripped Dean's hair tight to pull him off.

"Fuck, that's hot, Cas." Cas chuckled lightly.

"I want to try something." Dean nodded and Cas sat up. "Lie down, Dean."

Dean bit his lower lip, turned on even more with Cas's bossy tone. Cas kissed him hard, and then broke apart suddenly, leaving Dean in a whimper. Cas lowered himself and licked the underside of Dean's dick. When Cas turned himself around, he understood what it was Cas wanted to try. He licked his lips in preparation. Cas took his almost painfully hard erection into his hot, wet mouth and lowered himself to Dean's waiting mouth.

"_Nnnggghh!"_ Dean's senses were being overloaded, and by God he loved it. He loved the feeling of Cas in his mouth, his thighs around his face, and his body pressed so close against his. And then there was Cas's mouth! His goddamn mouth was on his cock; sucking, and tongue swirling, driving Dean up the wall.

Dean almost forgot he had hands until they were on Cas's firm and fleshy ass. He guided Cas since he couldn't bob his head. Cas took the hint and began to hump his mouth gingerly at first, careful not to throw away all abandon and hurt him. Dean's own hips began to move. They slowly eased into a steadier and heavier pace. Cas would occasionally pull his face off Dean's dick to take a deep breath, and Dean would do the same, pushing Cas's hips off him when he needed.

Cas came first, Dean willing himself to show Cas that marine stamina. He swallowed what he could, but chocking on Cas's large cock and the steady flow of his cum. Cas climbed off Dean and repositioned himself between Dean's spread open legs. He sucked on Dean's balls while jerking his large dick until Dean came with Cas's name on his swollen, pink lips.

When they were dressed again and too hungry to stay in bed anymore, they headed for the mess hall which was full of even more buzz and chatter than usual. They grabbed their meals and sat at a free table.

"Everyone can see your hickeys," Dean whispered through half mouthful of lasagna. "I know I shouldn't, but fuck it's hot." They just talked about normal things after that, laughing and eating. They took their time and when they finally made their way out of the mess hall, Dean looked over to the bulletin board and found what all the chatter was about. He stopped in front of it with Cas behind him, reading the poster.

**Attention! **

**The USS COLT will be holding a ship wide skills tournament on May 23****rd**** to determine who the best soldiers are on board the Colt.**

**Winning team wins bragging rights, prize Officer quarters, and additional 2 weeks commission. **

**Register your team of four to seven with Lieutenant Robert Singer by May 1****st****.**

* * *

**A/N: Wow! This took a while! Thank you for all the encouragement and reviews. I think some fun times are up ahead aboard the USS Colt, don't you? **

**Check out my teacher!AU, entitled _First Day of My Life _in which Castiel is a new teacher to Samuel Colt High School. He just wants to lay low and have a fresh start. Unfortunately for him, his heart disregards all his plans and flushes them down the toilet when he meets Mr. Dean Winchester, the teacher across the hall. Destiel!  
**


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